


Welcome to the Club

by EdmondJames_Dantes



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic Park Original Trilogy (Movies), Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Claire Dearing and Owen Grady Adopt Maisie Lockwood, Developing Relationship, F/M, Family, Friendship, M/M, Post-Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 02:09:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20323345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdmondJames_Dantes/pseuds/EdmondJames_Dantes
Summary: Too many people hate them for their parts in Masrani's Jurassic World. And now, with Maisie Lockwood, a genetically engineered human, in their hands, Claire and Owen can only think of one person who might be willing to help them protect her.





	Welcome to the Club

It's a long windy driveway of dirt and gravel road, dust blowing up behind and all around their car, with immense trees on either side, thick and dark as any forest. They make Claire think nervously of Lockwood's manor, surrounded by nature, into which the dinosaurs had stampeded into that green camouflage. Finally, they reach the end of the road, and Owen slows the car to a crawl. The open clearing before the large cabin house is filled with cars and trucks, a van, even a motorcycle close up to the porch.

Claire and Owen exchange confused, worried glances. This is meant to be home to the most reclusive, most antisocial, and hard to find man on earth. He's anti-technology, completely off the grid, living in the middle of nowhere. It had taken all of Franklin's computer skills to hunt him down for them. And now they get here to find the open space in front of his home full with other people's vehicles, each one packed in tightly and still leaving room for more. But Owen and Claire share a look that speaks a whole conversation and ultimately boils down to just one thing: they're running on fumes.

Owen parks the car and they fall out of it, and Claire and Owen keep Maisie between them. Owen's hand clutching protectively at her small shoulder, Claire holding her hand, all of them a little more scared now that they're out of the metal hunk of car that had offered some sense of security, and Maisie grips back tightly, her other hand fisting in the back of Owen's leather vest. There's safety in numbers, but there's no such thing as safety anymore; if there ever was in the first place. Even seemingly far away from potential threats, their eyes dart around, ears pricking for any predatory noise.

Claire knocks quietly on the front door, half not wanting to attract attention from anything that might be lurking in the trees (_It's just paranoia, Claire, there's nothing there_) and half not wanting an answer, and when she gets no response, she grits her teeth and knocks loudly. A moment of quiet then a calamity inside, talking and calling, a multitude of voices that they can't make out the words of, footsteps approaching, locks disengaging, and then the door swings open inwardly.

A handsome older man stands before them, silver hair curling to one side of his forehead, sharp eyes raking them over, and he's frowning behind a well-groomed beard that's equally silver. White t-shirt tucked into dark jeans, dark brown belt, black wool coat that drops down and swirls around his knees, worn leather boots, but a brand Owen recognises as solid, good. All of it speaks to quality that Claire wasn't expecting from a man who supposedly avoids society as best as possible.

"Dr Alan Grant?" asks Owen, seeking confirmation for what his eyes are already showing him on the rough weathered face.

"Yeah. I'd ask who you are, but I'd have to be blind not to recognise the fucking idiots who contributed to the catastrophe at Jurassic World, _and_ a bunch of dinosaurs being let loose into the USA," says Grant bluntly. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't slam the door in your face."

"Please, Dr Grant," says Claire, stepping forward just slightly. "We need your help."

Grant quirks an eyebrow at them, utterly unimpressed. But then his eyes flick down to the little girl between Claire and Owen and he grimaces, and surveys them thoroughly, no doubt taking in their unwashed clothes, the thinness of their faces and the fear in their eyes. The way Owen and Claire hold Maisie tightly between them and she holds them back just as tightly.

"You'd better come in," says Grant reluctantly, eyeing the grubby and obviously hungry child, and he steps back and holds the door for them.

Grant locks the door behind them, then leads them through to a lounge area that's packed with people.

"Didn't mean to crash a party," says Owen lightly, but his humour doesn't hide his unease, the way his gaze flicks from face to face, trying and failing to place names to them. Owen's fight instincts are closer to the surface these days, tempered only by knowing that he's prey and not predator; resurrecting the dinosaurs altered the food chain, no matter what anyone else might believe.

Claire eyeballs the exits, what looks like entry to the kitchen, a couple of closed doors on one wall, the edge of the huge cabin with its huge, wide windows, early afternoon sunlight spilling warm and gold into the surprisingly modern room. Paranoia eats at all the Jurassic World survivors, but not all of them had to run from an Indominus Rex, and then the Indoraptor in Lockwood's manor.

Maisie fidgets nervously, her palm sweaty. She's never seen so many people in the same room at once. Home-schooled, her grandfather kept her hidden from almost all other humans. She knows now it was for her safety. Dinosaurs were refused animal rights and protection. And left to die. But Maisie was genetically engineered, a broken-hearted man resurrecting his daughter, and created in a test tube. Does she have human rights? Maisie stares at the people staring at her and Claire and Owen, and wonders.

Grant snorts and stands there with his hands on his hips like a judgemental statue of some ancient greek god.

A tall, lanky woman stands, feet planted firmly like a T-Rex standing her ground. She pushes her loose blonde hair over her shoulders and crosses her arms over her chest. "And what exactly are _you _doing here?"

Seems like the whole world knows their faces and names now. CEO of Masrani's monster. The ex-Navy guy who trained and tamed the velociraptors (_raptors are wild, they _**_can't _**_be tamed_, thinks Owen). Owen hesitates. But Claire raises her chin, and says, "We didn't have anyone else- we didn't know who else we could trust."

"Trust with what?" cuts in another woman, a bit younger than the first, in her late thirties, and she's sitting on the couch in a faded geeky t-shirt and worn jeans, but she has a steel-eyed stare, and her bushy gold hair is tied back like she means business.

Claire and Owen glance at each other. They hadn't planned on involving so many people. The more who know, the more danger Maisie is in.

"_Well_," says Grant sharply. "You said you needed my help."

"This is Maisie," whispers Claire, feeling helpless, and self-conscious with so many judgemental strangers staring at them. They have no friends here, only a tiny, desperate, dumb hope. "Maisie Lockwood."

Grant pauses then stares inscrutably down at the girl. "The missing granddaughter and heir to Benjamin Lockwood. Presumed dead. Eaten by dinosaurs." Alan wonders if this is a rescue or a kidnapping. Perhaps both.

Maisie stares at him silently. Owen makes an aborted move to get in front of her, and Grant's gaze flicks to him, eyes narrowing at his quick over-protectiveness.

"Why would you need _my_ help with a child?" queries Grant, genuine confusion and surprise filling his voice.

Owen meets Grant's eyes dead on. "We need the help of someone with the courage to stand against the whole world and tell them they're wrong. Who is willing to burn his entire career to advocate for leaving the dinosaurs on Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna alone and not treat them like theme-park monsters."

Claire bites her lip. "We need someone who is willing to put his name behind organizations that were dedicated to saving the dinosaurs from the volcano, no matter how much he feared the most fearsome man-made creatures on earth. We need someone like that. _Maisie_ needs someone like that, someone we can trust, someone like you."

Dr Alan Grant knows dinosaurs, understands just how alive and dangerous they are, how dangerous the technology is that created them, and he still believes that the ones already in existence have right to _live_.

Grant's eyes narrow, flicking between Owen and Claire, before he crouches down and looks at Maisie. Claire squeezes Maisie's hand reassuringly and Owen clutches at her shoulder, looking like he wants to yank her back, but the both of them stand at her side: you are not alone.

"Now," says Grant, searching the little girl's unhappy, scared eyes. "Why would you need someone like that? Like me?" he asks softly.

Maisie chokes back a sob, eyes filling with tears as she has to _think about it_, and she whispers, "Because I'm like them."

"Like who?" questions Grant, his voice softening further at her distress.

But Maisie's face crumples and she shakes her head, tears dripping tracks down her cheeks. "Like _what._"

Grant stares at her, and slowly, with fists tightening around their hearts, Claire and Owen watch as horrified realization dawns on the man, disbelief blooming in his widening eyes, shock slackening his face. No matter how crazy the world called Dr Alan Grant, everyone always agreed that he was _clever._ You had to be, clever and resourceful and strong, to survive Jurassic Park. Clever to survive the velociraptors.

"_Good god,_" breathes out Grant, and he stands up abruptly, stumbling back a few steps, wide eyes still stuck on Maisie.

Maisie bursts into tears at his obvious rejection and Owen grabs her, lifting her up and holding the girl on his hip, cupping her head as she buries her small face in his throat. Claire's hands clench into fists and she edges slightly in front of Owen and Maisie.

"Alan, what's wrong?" asks that first woman, sounding worried. Owen doesn't blame her, anything that can scare Dr Alan Grant must be fearsome indeed. But this is just one little girl. One _scared_ little girl, no matter the origin of her existence.

Claire and Owen don't take their eyes off Grant, turned into a possible threat with the knowledge he now has.

Grant scrubs his hands over his face. He doesn't answer his friend, but looks over Claire and Owen and Maisie, grouchy resignation on his face. "You can stay. We'll get some food into you, and you can shower and we'll find some clean clothes that'll fit you. And then you're telling us _everything_."

It sounds like a threat, but only because Claire and Owen know it's necessary. They haven't done anything to earn Grant's trust.

"They're staying? After what they did?" pipes up one man angrily, sitting upright next to the blonde woman with her steel eyes and hair tied back. They have similar faces and similar tall, lean bodies, looking like siblings, with the man a few years younger, mid-thirties instead of late thirties. He's got curly auburn hair, bright eyes, and outrage scrawled across his face.

"Tim," says Grant with a tone of finality. "We all make mistakes, and we all have to live with them, and blame doesn't matter when all's said and done. The only way we all survive is by helping each other."

Nobody disagrees further.

"Thank you, Dr Grant," says Claire quietly. Owen echoes her.

Grant nods curtly, but then his gaze shifts back to Maisie. "Maisie," he calls softly. "Maisie?"

Owen nudges her encouragingly. Maisie looks over at Grant distrustingly, eyes red and wet.

Grant gives her a small shaky smile. "Do you- do you like dinosaurs?" he sounds concerned for how his question will be received, but Maisie calms somewhat at the familiar topic.

She nods shyly. "I liked them more before they tried to eat me though."

Grant huffs a soft chuckle. "Didn't we all," he murmurs wryly. "Maisie, have you ever had an iced dino cookie? My son loves dinosaurs, as much as we try to encourage him towards rockets and spaceships and just about anything else, but I bet it'd make a nice change to get to eat the dinosaurs for once? And I promise these ones are really very sweet and completely harmless."

Claire raises her brows. A son. Another incongruity from what she'd heard was an antisocial man. Presumably a wife as well then.

Maisie blinks at Grant then beams brightly, wiping her wet cheeks off. "Yes, please!"

Grant nods, relieved, apparently not liking when children cry.

"I'll grab them and make some sandwiches," offers the young man - Tim - grudgingly.

"Thank you," says Owen, relaxing just a little, the weight easing off his shoulders as the potential threat dissipates into nothing. "We ran out of food the evening before yesterday."

Tim frowns at that. "I'll grab the ice-cream too," he says. "It's tradition," he adds with a tight grin and head-shake, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

"If you don't mind me asking," says Claire, looking around at all the people in the room, nearly a dozen of them. "Who is everyone and why are they here?" She blushes slightly. "I don't mean to be rude, but I didn't think that you liked people all that much, Dr Grant. You're a hard man to find, let alone reach."

Grant grins crookedly, looking fondly around his living room at the people crowding up his space, a family on each of his two couches, a couple his own age cuddled up in one of his two armchairs, one young man in a black leather jacket with bright blue streaks in his frizzy dark hair leaning against the wall.

But it's the tall blonde woman who answers Claire, running a hand tiredly through her hair. "I'm Ellie Degler, nee Sattler. And in this room are some of the original survivors of Jurassic Park, of Isla Nublar and Isla Sorna, along with our families." Ellie gestures to the couch she'd been sitting on when they'd arrived, "My husband, Mark Degler, and our kids, Charlie and Jane."

Mark eyes them warily but nods respectfully enough, though the young adults in their early twenties barely glance up from their phones, the young man scowling at them for no more than a second.

Owen blinks in surprise. Claire, who in the recesses of her mind had already begun to suspect some of the identities of the other guests, nods.

"Welcome to the Jurassic Park Survivor's Club," says Grant, giving Claire and Owen a sympathetic smile that says he is now including them _within _that group. "We're actually still waiting for a few people to get back from a shopping trip, if you can believe it. And everyone's here because for some godforsaken reason all of these idiots _also_ think I'm their best chance for survival now."

The younger blonde woman chuckles, the steel having left her eyes at Grant's acceptance of them. "You are, Alan. And we have club t-shirts but none of us like 'em that much. I'm Lex Hammond, and I'm also the reason why the rest of the world has so much difficulty finding Dr Grant. I'm good with computers. Tim's my ever annoying younger brother," she adds, grinning cheerfully at them, her earlier reservations seemingly put aside, forgotten, or forgiven. Lex tilts her chin to the kind-looking man with bouncy black hair and warm brown eyes sitting on her other side, "This is Kevin, he's a helluva good barista, and my wonderful husband."

Kevin purses his lips. "You only married me for my coffee so you could pull all-nighters on your video games, and now my one useful skill is useless. What damn use is coffee in a world overrun with dinosaurs?" He blows out an irritated breath. "Sorry, sorry. I'm just a bit nervous. It's nice to meet you..." Kevin looks at them quizzically.

"Oh!" Claire smiles brightly, pleased to meet someone not immediately against them, but then she dims as she realises they need to introduce themselves and his welcoming nature might change. "I'm Claire Dearing, and..." she trails off, looking awkwardly at Owen, unsure if she has the right to speak for him.

"I'm Owen Grady," offers Owen, bouncing Maisie onto his other hip for comfort. He's strong, but she's still heavy over time. "This is Maisie." Maisie gives a little wave and rests her head back onto his chest, peering curiously at everyone.

Lex and Kevin nod back at them, Lex calmly and with studious eyes, but Kevin is distracted, seemingly unable to stop his knee from jiggling up and down anxiously. Lex rubs his leg comfortingly.

"We're Paul and Amanda Kirby," offers Paul Kirby, his wife's arm around his shoulders as they squeeze into one large armchair. They look roughly Dr Grant's age, mid to late sixties, though they also look just as fit and mobile as Grant, dressed in hiking gear, worry creasing their faces further, backpacks dropped at their boots. "Our son Eric is on the- the shopping trip."

Claire quirks an eyebrow as he stutters but doesn't call Kirby out on what sounds like a lie coming from him. "Nice to meet you," she murmurs. She vaguely recalls a botched rescue mission to rescue a boy called Eric from Isla Sorna a long time ago, something that Dr Grant had also gotten mixed up in, but she doesn't remember any more details.

"Kelly Curtis Malcolm," calls out the punk-looking man leaning against the wall. "I'm a lot of things, but right now I'm mostly just my father's son and trying to survive fucking dinosaurs all over again."

Owen raises an amused eyebrow, something familiar in the young man's face and attitude giving away his parentage. "Your father wouldn't happen to be Dr Ian Malcolm, the guy who wanted to let all the dinos get wiped out again, would he?" Owen hadn't been overly fond of the guy proposing that the US and Costa Rican governments do nothing to save the animals from Isla Nublar's erupting volcano. Owen thinks wistfully of Blue, glad that she escaped that fate, and Lockwood's manor alive, yet nonetheless fearing the havoc she might wreak on humans.

Kelly's chin juts up. "Yes, he would be," he says, proudly and dangerously, clearly agreeing with his father's attitude and daring Owen to argue with him.

Owen shrugs carefully with Maisie still in his arms. They can't afford to hold onto grudges, and if Malcolm's son is here with Grant and the two haven't killed each other yet over their opposing views... "Good to meet you."

Kelly snorts. "Right back-atcha."

Claire bites her lip again in worry, but Tim comes hurrying out of the kitchen, carrying a large tray full of sandwiches and fruits and iced dinosaur cookies, and an entire 2L tub of ice-cream, with three spoons stuck in, and three full plastic water bottles tucked under his arm, all of which he carefully juggles and places on the large coffee table between the largest couch and the hearth.

Dr Grant clears his throat, and Claire and Owen's attention snaps back to him. "Dig in, kids," he says to them, waving at the food and drinks.

Maisie wriggles and Owen lets her down to the floor, and all three of them fall to their knees before the coffee table, falling upon the food like carnivores at a fresh carcass.

Maisie grins around a crumbling brontosaurus (or maybe it's meant to be a brachiosaurus), a red apple in her free hand, and Owen grins back at her, and then at Claire, the adults going for the fat beef sandwiches first and devouring them.

"You weren't kidding about running out of food a couple days back," observes Grant, frowning slightly, claiming a seat on the empty armchair.

Owen shakes his head. "Didn't want to risk people recognising us so close to your place. Didn't want to risk someone picking up our trail and figuring out where we were headed."

Claire swallows down the last of her first sandwich. "We've got money, in cash, emptied our bank accounts and a few ATMs before we started heading this way. We can pay you for your help," says Claire, a little more desperate to give than she'd like, but she doesn't want to take advantage of a man who knows what she and Owen were a part of, and who knows the truth of Maisie's origins (even if he lacks the details), and is still willing to take them in.

Grant waves it off, something like amusement glinting in his eyes and he glances towards the Kirbys, but then he focuses on Claire again. "It might help buy supplies for _all of us_ in the coming days, but I'm not taking money from people who look like they need it more than I do. I haven't needed to fund an archaeology dig in years."

Claire smiles thankfully at him, and Grant gives her a small smile in return, rolling his eyes and muttering, "I'm meant to be retired, I'm too old for this shit."

"We appreciate your help, Dr Grant," mumbles Owen through a mouthful of sandwich. Though, neither he nor Claire are sure _how_ Dr Grant will be able to help them, only that he's one of the precious few who might be willing to in the face of everything else. Sanctuary, perhaps.

Claire smacks Owen's arm, though gently. "Don't talk with your mouth full, it's rude," she hisses.

Maisie giggles, and finally reaches out and nabs a sandwich, and both Claire and Owen exchange a relieved glance over Maisie's head at her returning appetite. They'd both sacrificed some of their food to Maisie over the last week, not wanting her to get hungry when they were low on supplies, but she'd picked at it despondently and they'd ended up eating her leftovers until eventually they had run out entirely.

They feast upon the offered food and water, grinning delightedly around spoonfuls of vanilla ice-cream, and then Dr Grant - "You can call me, Alan," he says good-naturedly - leads them to a guest room, pointing out the en-suite bathroom and promising to bring back clean clothes and some towels, which he does, moments later.

"These are some of mine and Ellie's for you two, but the kid's going to have to make do with a t-shirt and sweatpants until we can wash and dry her stuff, or buy her more clothes. Should be able to tie the drawstring tight enough to keep 'em up," says Alan apologetically. "My boy's only three so his stuff won't fit, and there's no other kids here."

Owen thanks him. "It's fine, we'll be happy just to get clean." It's been a long, hard road to get here, and they'll make do. They hadn't dared to stick around Lockwood manor to pack any of Maisie's stuff, or to travel to his or Claire's to get anything of their own. They'd all gone to Zia's cousin's empty cabin, the closest place of their group's that they could think of, where they'd made quick plans, gathered what supplies they could, and then split up. Him, Claire, and Maisie going one way, Zia and Franklin another.

Alan nods knowingly. "Yeah, I know that feeling, like you'll never get the dirt out of your skin. Use as much hot water as you like, and help yourselves to the soap and stuff. You all stink," he says bluntly, but not without a teasing grin and wink at Maisie.

Maisie giggles and Owen and Claire crack tired smiles, then Alan leaves them to it, and Claire, Owen, and Maisie are alone in a strange bedroom, in a strange house, in the middle of nowhere.

Owen finally lets himself yawn. "God, I'm tired," he murmurs. He'd spent all of last night and most of today driving. He's been wracked with nightmares and sleep's been a lost cause.

"Me too," says Claire, having spent the entire previous night driving and not doing much better on the nightmare front herself, and she reaches out, rubbing his forearm affectionately. Owen catches her eye and gives her a small, warm grin, before looking down to Maisie.

"Do you want to take the first shower, Maisie?" asks Owen, distracting himself from daydreams of him and Claire sharing and conserving the hot water.

Maisie bites her lip and looks at her shoes before peering up at them. "Will you both be here?"

"Right outside the door, sweetheart," promises Claire.

Maisie takes a towel and the clothes meant for her and goes into the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack, so Claire and Owen slowly, painfully, ease down beside it, bodies still bruised from the fight with Indoraptor (_God, was it really less than a week ago?_), with their backs to the wall as they hear the shower turn on, raining down on tiles, and finally they let some small amount of the hypervigilance and stress seep out of their bodies. Owen doesn't say anything when Claire hesitantly places a hand on his thigh, but he wraps an arm around her shoulders and nuzzles affectionately at her hair. They're still puzzling out exactly what they are to each other, and how Maisie wants to fit in with them or not, but while the roles are a little unclear and mish-mashed, Claire and Owen both unknowingly agree that _family _is a good word for the three of them.

"Dr Grant was right," whispers Owen, still nosing at Claire's hair. "We really do stink terribly."

Claire snickers and Owen grins in success and then they're both laughing, a bit tinged with hysteria, but happy anyway.

Maisie comes out looking like she's playing dress-up in her dad's clothes, a cute disgruntled pout on her face even as Owen consoles her that it's just for a little while, and then it's Claire's turn to have the use of the shower, chucking her own dirty clothes into the bathroom hamper and sliding happily under the hot water, soaping up and scrubbing 'til her skin's red.

Her leg, where the Indoraptor had clawed it, stings with the hot water - Zia had cleaned and patched it up at her cousin's cabin, and another couple of weeks and Claire can take the stitches out, somehow. She might just ask Owen, he'll know, probably just do it himself. But for now, Claire luxuriates in washing her hair thoroughly in shampoo and conditioner, not willing to trust that she'll have this gift again any time soon.

Ellie's faded blue jeans, plain underwear, pale pink t-shirt and yellow button-down shirt all fit well enough, even if they're not colours Claire would have chosen, but Claire's got nothing but gratitude. She feels vulnerable and exposed without a bra on underneath, but another woman's bra is something that likely wouldn't have fit very well, and that's even if it wouldn't have been far too intimate a thing to share. But there's nothing for it, Claire's own is in desperate need of a wash.

At least Claire's got her own decent pair of running shoes that they'd made one quick pitstop for, and a pair for Maisie too, before leaving everything behind. Her previous shoes hadn't been as good as she'd thought, even if she'd survived Jurassic World again, and Lockwood's manor, in them. But Maisie's thin converse trainers just wouldn't cut it if - _when -_ they need to run for their lives. They hadn't dared stick around the tiny mallstrip for anything else, Claire's face, and Maisie's as well, plastered across every TV channel in the country at yet another dinosaur disaster. Owen had had to do all the quick food runs into shops on his own, they had figured one person might be overlooked where more wouldn't be, and his face is a little less well-known to the general public.

Owen leaps up eagerly from Maisie's side as soon as Claire's out, throwing his clean clothes ahead into the bathroom and stripping off his dirty clothes as he barrells past her, and he doesn't even bother closing the door before he's kicking off his boots and stripping out of his trousers and pants and tossing himself with a whoop of excitement into the hot shower that Claire had left running for him, his tiredness apparently put on hold for a little while longer.

Claire rolls her eyes at Owen's typical military lack of modesty and closes the door most of the way for Maisie's sake, leaving it slightly ajar, just in case. Fortunately, Maisie simply laughs at Owen's ridiculousness and holds out a hair-brush she must have found somewhere. "Would you please finish brushing my hair? I think Owen got distracted."

Claire smiles, thinking fondly of her sister and how they had used to brush each other's hair when they were young. "Of course." Claire hopes Karen and her family - the kids, Zach and Gray, and even Scott, Claire's dick of a brother-in-law - are safe somewhere. Claire thinks of her younger but only friends, Franklin and Zia, somewhere miles and miles away and also hopefully safe, and she tries not to feel like she's abandoned one family for another.

Owen stumbles out a good 15 minutes later in a pair of Grant's nice dark jeans, a navy t-shirt peeking out from under a dark red plaid shirt, and his own boots and leather belt back on (no doubt with his knife attached to the back of it), as well as his own brown leather vest worn over the shirt. Steam billows out from behind him, but it doesn't obscure the pleased grin on his newly shaven face at being clean and fresh, and Claire and Maisie smile back at him.

Claire's smile lingers, as does her gaze on Owen. There's nothing sexual in her attraction to him, but someone who isn't an artist and doesn't generally care for art, can still recognise a masterpiece. Owen's always good-looking, ruggedly handsome, dirty or clean, even in another man's clothes, but he yawns into his elbow again, an air of exhaustion about him that's undeniable now, and there's a tug at Claire's heartstrings that makes her wish she were capable of sexual attraction. It might make navigating this relationship easier if she and Owen had the same instincts. She'll need to tell him, sooner or later. _Later_, she thinks.

"We'd better go explain everything to Dr Grant now," says Claire regretfully, eyeing the dark smudges of sleep deprivation under Owen's eyes.

Owen nods with a grimace, picks up his clothes and throws them in the hamper, and then the three of them reluctantly troop back to Dr Grant's living room.

In Grant's living room, it's less crowded than before.

"Where is everyone?" asks Owen curiously. Claire and Maisie take advantage of the free couches to grab seats close to the hearth, Maisie curling up under Claire's arm.

Grant glances up at him before focusing on the fire that he's adding logs to and using a metal poker to shift stuff around into a crackling blaze. "Ellie and her family are in their room. The Kirbys have retired to Eric's room to catch some winks, jet lag catching up with them. Lex, Tim, and Kel are fighting over making dinner in the kitchen, with Kevin attempting to maintain the peace. I _think _it might be lasagne but I figured I'd be best staying out of the kids' way, they all fight dirty."

Owen raises an eyebrow. "They're all in their thirties, at least. Hardly kids."

Grant chuckles. "Tim came up to my waist when I met him, Lex up to mid-chest. I met Kelly years later, but when you're my age, thirties _is _kids."

"You mentioned a son, Dr Grant? If you think thirties is young, a three year old must be trouble!" Owen grins teasingly. "What's his name?"

"Said you could call me Alan if you like, and I meant it," says Alan, and then he smiles and it's like the sun coming out, and both Owen and Claire feel blinded by his bright, handsome happiness. "My baby boy's Chris, after Chris Hadfield, the astronaut."

"You really didn't want him to get into dinosaurs then, I take it, Alan?" interjects Claire, remembering his comment about trying to get the boy interested in rockets and spaceships.

Owen goes and sits beside her and Maisie, quietly, not wanting to remind Grant that they need to talk about other important things just yet.

Alan sighs and shrugs with a resigned hopelessness. "He loves them anyway. Like father, like son. Some boys just fall in love with the real, living thing." He flashes them a quick smile, sitting back on his haunches. "Not everyone falls in love with old bones." Space is dangerous too, Alan knows, but at least they haven't discovered man-eating aliens yet in real life.

Claire snorts softly. "You don't look that ancient yet," she teases.

Owen turns Alan's words over in his brain, something not adding up about them, but he's so very, very tired and can't figure it out.

Alan laughs and gets up, his knees creaking. "Speak for yourself!"

There's a commotion at the front door, a loud ruckus of mock-arguing voices tumbling through the hallway, and then a man staggers out, short dark curls, bright eyes, and an easy, charming smile. He's well-dressed and his clothes are intact but he's limping awkwardly, one leg lagging just a little (an old injury or birth defect, surmises Owen). He's also carrying a small boy on his good hip. Another two men come up behind the first man, one man older with greying hair that Owen and Claire both recognise as Dr Ian Malcolm, and the third man is younger than the first, in his early thirties, with piercing, observant eyes, and a messy mop of hair. He must be the Kirby's son, Eric, that Paul had mentioned as being on the "shopping trip." Both of the able-bodied men are laden down with half a dozen bags each.

"Daddy!" shouts the little boy. He's got on a classic NASA t-shirt under an open yellow plaid button down, and a too big, old brown fedora stuck firmly down on his head. The boy beams toothily and wriggles impatiently, and the man holding him grins and carefully lowers him to the floor, the boy running before the tips of his sneakers even touch the carpet, straight into Dr Alan Grant's waiting arms.

Owen, Claire, and Maisie all watch in amusement as Alan swings him up, throwing him - Chris, his son, no doubt - into the air and catching him securely, before bringing him in for a firm hug.

Alan settles his son on his hip, taking the hat off Chris for a moment so he can press his face to the boy's soft chocolate curls, inhaling deeply before pressing a kiss there. "Chris, hi, honey," says Alan in a gentle tone, getting back a cheerful chirp, "Hi, daddy."

Grant doesn't say any words of love, merely replacing the fedora on his son's head, but Owen guesses he doesn't need to say the words; father and son seem perfectly happy in their quiet hug. And then Grant looks up again, staring at the limping man who had carried his son in.

"Billy," breathes out Alan Grant, then the man - Billy - is staggering forward - and Owen winces because that limp really is going to get him killed if they have to run for their lives from dinosaurs again - then Billy is throwing his arms around Alan and the kid, and Owen blinks in surprise.

"Oh," says Claire softly in her own surprise. "That'll teach me not to make assumptions," she murmurs ruefully under her breath.

_Same_, thinks Owen, grinning and shaking his head, and in the back of his mind, he starts considering options for helping Billy should they need to _run_. Owen's a pack animal at heart, more so now since bonding with the raptors (even having lost Charlie, Delta and Echo to death, and Blue to running away), and with Grant's generosity, kindness, and quick _inclusiveness_ of him and Claire and Maisie into _his _club, Owen's own pack is growing again.

Maisie looks on at Alan and Billy and Chris, fascinated with the family before her, having had very few familial interactions within the Lockwood manor, and with only Claire and Owen as her new role models.

Alan and Billy kiss deeply, before gentling into soft kisses, lips pulling apart only when breathing requires it. "Are you alright?" says Alan quietly, gazing into Billy's eyes, and cupping his cheek tenderly.

The level of care in Grant's touch and voice makes Owen's heart ache, and he sneaks a glance at Claire. Owen's own hands are rough and calloused, and Claire, as excellently as she adapts to the roughness of survival situations, deserves that kind of gentle tenderness that Owen might actually be well-suited to giving, despite his rough hands. He's gotten in trouble before, with people assuming that the alpha of the raptors wants to be an alpha in the bedroom. Owen's been dumped several times because he hasn't been able to live up to other people's expectations of him.

"-yeah, just still a bit shaken up," says Billy, and his grin is tired and pained. "Damn dinosaurs. It is _really _good to be back with you, Alan." Alan doesn't admonish Billy for swearing in front of their son; a dinosaur nightmare become reality more than deserves some cussing.

"And you rescued my hat," murmurs Alan, his mouth curling happily as he taps the brown fedora on their son's head.

"Well, that's the important thing," says Billy with a charming smile, pressing a kiss to his son's cheek, and then Billy hugs both Alan and Chris tightly.

Clearly, Claire muses, the hat is some kind of talisman. Perhaps something like the _Evenstar _jewel pendant that Arwen had given to Aragorn, and then worn by their son in Arwen's vision, in the _Lord of the Rings_. Then again, even with Claire's asexuality, she's always been a bit of a romantic at heart, and wanted romance for herself. It's just that nothing has ever worked out with anyone for Claire, either her indifference to sex, or her abrasive and dominant personality, gets in the way. She glances at Owen, hoping her wistfulness doesn't show, and finds him smiling contentedly at Alan, Billy, and Chris.

"Kisses!" pipes up Chris, tugging at Alan and Billy's shirts."Hugs 'n' kisses, dada, daddy!"

Alan and Billy both chuckle and lift him up from Alan's hip in a practiced move, bracing Chris securely between their chests, and Chris throws an arm around each of their necks and Alan and Billy pepper their son's face with kisses to his happy squeals.

Claire smiles at the easy love and happiness before her, but her heart aches with worry, sorrow, and _guilt_. She and Owen, and even Maisie, have endangered this family, and families just like them in the US, and potentially even Canada to the North and Mexico to the South, if any of the loose dinosaurs manage to roam that far. And there's no knowing for certain how far and for how long the pteranodons and dimorphodons can fly. They're not like kites, you can't just take them out for a test flight.

"Hey, A-B-C! Are any of you three gonna help us? And what about the rando hanger-ons lazing it up on the couch? We've got a lot of bags here!" calls out Dr Ian Malcolm, somehow managing to sound both pleased to see Alan and irritated with him all at once. Still, Owen notices that Malcolm had waited until after the family had had a few minutes to reunite before interrupting.

Alan shares an exasperated look with Billy and rolls his eyes. Billy, with his back to Malcolm and Eric Kirby, smirks where Malcolm can't see it.

"Hold your darn horses, Ian, I'm coming," says Alan and gives Chris one last kiss before handing him back over to Billy.

"I'll help too," offers Owen, standing up. He can handle bringing in some bags.

Alan and Dr Malcolm both survey him, and Owen makes himself stand firm under the weight of their eyes. Malcolm shakes his head. "You look like a stiff breeze will knock you over, Mr. Grady. We'll take Ms. Dearing, if she's got no complaints about lifting her own weight?" he directs his speculative gaze to Claire.

Owen sits back down, feeling relieved, his head heavy with fatigue, yet he's bowled over too. He'd known how smart Dr Malcolm was, but it's a lot to see first-hand, like when you first realise that the raptors are more intelligent than you are. They haven't introduced themselves but of course Dr Malcolm would recognise them, and take their measures in an instant. And he's had more than an instant to observe Owen and Claire and Maisie.

Claire, of course, takes Malcolm's challenge _as _a challenge, though she takes it less personally than she might have before, well, Before. She climbs to her feet with a controlled nod of her head. "Of course, Dr. Malcolm."

Malcolm gives her a sharp grin, darts an unreadable glance to Grant, then he turns toward the kitchen and hollers, "Kelson, get your ass out here and come help us unpack the truck!"

Kelly - Kelson? - barrels out of the kitch, muttering disparagingly about Tim and Lex's cooking abilities under his breath.

"And don't come back," shouts Tim after him, laughter breaking up his words.

Eric Kirby snickers quietly.

"Did you get my meds?" demands Kelly of his father, hands on his hips.

Eric quiets.

Dr Malcolm pauses, glancing to Claire, Owen, and Maisie. Kelly flaps his hand dismissively in their direction, not even looking at them. "I don't care what they think, dad."

"There's 1 year's worth of insulin sitting in a big cooler on the back of the truck, it's expiry is a year from the date of purchase, from today. But, I could only get your next script filled for the testosterone, they wouldn't let me buy more. " Malcolm grimaces, a shadow crossing his face as he stares at his kid.

Kelly clenches his jaw. "Bet the insulin cost a small fortune." He ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck.

Malcolm shrugs. "The money doesn't matter. You do." He reaches out and wraps his hand around Kelly's nape, bringing him in for a loose hug. "Kel, we'll find you more testosterone when we need to. We have a few months leeway and there's not so many dinosaurs loose that we can expect the entire world to fall apart."

Kelly nods against his shoulder, holding his father tightly for the blink of an eye, then he pulls away stiffly. "What the fuck are y'all staring at?" he snaps to the room in general, glaring at Owen and Claire, Billy and Alan, and even at Eric, leaving only the children out of his anger.

Malcolm cuffs him over the head. "Calm the fuck down and go unload the truck, kid."

Kelly stomps off.

"I'll go give him a hand," says Eric quietly, putting his bags down and then trailing off after Kelly.

Claire smiles reassuringly at Maisie and Owen, then follows the two men, nodding again to Dr Malcolm as she passes him. Alan kisses Chris's cheek, then Billy's, then strides after Claire, clapping Malcolm on the arm as he passes.

Malcolm eyes Owen, with Maisie climbing onto his lap, then looks at Billy, standing lopsidedly and holding Chris on his good side again. "Guess that means I'm left all on my lonesome sorting through all of this stuff," he says, sighing melodramatically.

"I'm sure you'll live, Ian." Billy grins and Malcolm rolls his eyes and starts rummaging through the bags, and Billy settles into the armchair closest to the blazing fire that's doing a decent job of heating up the whole room. He places Chris on the floor and the boy immediately waddles over to a large wooden chest in the corner, opening it up and digging around, pulling out toy after toy, squishing a shark plushie into a porsche and a Superman action figure into a firetruck and driving both vehicles round and round on the carpet in front of the hearth.

"Hey, I'm Billy Grant." Billy smiles kindly and leans over, reaching out a hand to Owen.

Owen smiles back, hoping it doesn't come out wrong as he bites back a yawn, and shakes Billy's hand. "I'm Owen Grady, and this is Maisie Lockwood."

Maisie smiles shyly at Billy when he gives her a gentle grin but doesn't say anything.

Billy looks back to Owen, and something about his face seems slightly colder, for all that he's still smiling. "Owen Grady. The man who raised raptors."

"Yeah," says Owen shortly. But his curiosity's piqued. Most people say _trained._

"Alan and I have always wondered," says Billy with a deliberately casual tone, his gaze fixed on his son playing, with Chris completely unaware of the turning tide of emotion in the room. "Adult raptors have a strong protective instinct for their young, even their unhatched eggs. Did the velociraptors you raised truly imprint on you as a parental figure, do you think? How strong were the bonds between the siblings? We suspected that, along with their intelligence rivalling humans, they had a strong social dynamic as well. But we never wanted to return to the Islands to find out in person."

A chill shivers down Owen's spine. _Return._ And something jolts in his brain, a connection that isn't a connection but a leap of intuition. A Dr William Brennan, a survivor of Isla Sorna, had co-written a book with Dr Grant, on InGen's velociraptors, on their intelligence and communication skills, comparing fossil findings with the living, genetically engineered animals. Owen had memorised the whole damn book when offered the job of raptor trainer, and used Brennan and Grant's hypotheses on raptor vocalization and enhanced hearing as the basis for his own communication with his own raptors.

"You're Dr William Brennan," gasps out Owen, in total shock, feeling starstruck, staring in awe at Billy's rueful grin.

"Dr William Brennan-Grant, if you're going for accurate formality, but I really like being Billy Grant with family and friends," says Billy earnestly. "I spent a long-ass decade convincing Alan I was serious about his stubborn ass and I'm goddamned going to use the name I earned. At least when I'm not publishing, I don't want people to read my stuff just because I'm married to someone famous."

"You're pretty famous yourself," says Owen, laughing delightedly, excitement overcoming his exhaustion for just a little longer. "For all that I had no idea what you looked like, there were no authors' pics in my copy, but dude, you saved my life a good ten times over with your book, _Old Bones and New_."

"I've read that one!" pipes up Maisie excitedly. "It's all about how raptors lived in packs, talked to each other, and had family bonds with each other!"

Owen stares down at her, brows furrowing in concern. "Did your grandfather just let you read anything you wanted?" Brennan's - _Billy's _book had had some descriptions of violence in it, of an InGen velociraptor snapping a man's neck out of anger, not hunger, and more besides.

Maisie shrugs. "He wouldn't buy a TV, Iris said it would rot my brain, so I was allowed to read anything in the library, except for the romance section."

"People," says Billy with a snort. "Parents will let their kids watch action movies and horror thrillers with absurd levels of violence, but those same parents will get squeamish about their kids even knowing there's naked bodies under all the clothes, let alone what people do with them. And don't even get me started on the pathetic failure of accurate and helpful sex ed in our country."

Owen nods, agreeing, but he also doesn't want to be the one to give Maisie the Talk she's gonna need to hear eventually - because Billy's right, she won't get anything decent from school - which makes Owen feel more than a little hypocritical.

"What's secks?" asks Chris, sitting at Billy's feet and running the shark-driven porsche over Billy's boot.

Billy and Owen stare down at him in dismay. Maisie snickers, having a fair idea, having read about animals mating in a number of books that her caregivers hadn't bothered to read first. Across the room, Dr Malcolm starts laughing, already on his knees to sort stuff but bending over, one hand on the floor, the other clutching his belly.

"_Fuck_," says Billy with feeling, eyes flaring wide with panic.

"Well, you're not wrong," says Owen, starting to chuckle.

"Fuck," echoes Chris.

"Oh no, please don't, Chris, sweetheart," pleads Billy, leaning down and cupping his son's face as if he's maybe considering just putting his hand over Chris's mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," singsongs Chris cheerfully.

Billy retrieves his hands and buries his face in them, mumbling, "Your daddy's going to kill me."

Which is, of course, when Claire, Alan, Eric and Kelly, all stagger back in, arms loaded up and dragging with the weight of all the bags and boxes they're carrying, to the sound of three year old Chris happily screeching at the top of his lungs, "Fuck fuck fuck!"

Claire raises an eyebrow. Kelly's eyes go wide, and Eric's jaw drops. Alan Grant stares at his shouting child, and then looks at Billy reprovingly.

Billy throws up his hands and grins helplessly. "He's your son, Alan."

Alan's eyes narrow. He carefully puts his shopping bags - _and there's no way this is _**_just _**_a shopping trip,_ thinks Owen, even as tiredness starts to set in again, the adrenaline of meeting one of his heroes wearing off - Alan's shopping bags go down with Malcolm's collection, haphazardly unpacked in what looks like more chaos than order, then Alan steps forward and grabs Chris.

"Fuck," says Chris to Alan when lifted to eye-level, as if it's very important that his daddy know the word too.

"Do you want some ice-cream?" asks Alan.

Chris blinks. He's not normally allowed ice-cream until after he's eaten dinner, and all of his veggies. "Yes, please?" he says confusedly.

_Good manners,_ notices Claire.

"You can have a big bowl of ice-cream, with chocolate sauce, and rainbow sprinkles, _if _you promise me you _stop _saying that word," says Alan, his tone riding the edge of enticing and firm. Apparently completely willing to bribe his child when occasion demands for it.

"No say fuck?" asks Chris.

Alan shakes his head solemnly. "Nope."

"Ice-cream instead?"

"Yes."

"Okay! Ice-cream with chocolate sauce and rainbow sprinkles, you promised, daddy!"

Alan nods and carries Chris through to the kitchen. "Well, I know what someone else is _not_ getting for awhile," mutters Alan, giving a dirty look to Billy as he goes, and there's no way he's talking about the ice-cream.

Billy winces hard, and then he catches Owen's eye and they're both laughing like hyenas as everyone else slowly unburdens all their loot, adding to Malcolm's bags, with Malcolm complaining, "No no no, you're ruining my system! Go away, all of you! No, stop trying to help, Kelly! Eric, back off!"

Claire carefully tiptoes around everyone and the junk filling up the floor space, and joins Owen and Maisie on the couch.

"Hi, Dr Brennan-Grant, it's nice to meet you," she says to Billy, offering her hand for a shake which Billy takes her up on. 

"I promise it's always this crazy here," says Billy to the unasked question in her eyes, and he's grinning happily, and it strikes Owen that Chris has Billy's beautiful smile, cheerful eyes, and curly hair. "And it's nice to meet you too, Ms Dearing, but please call me Billy. I'm just Billy Grant unless I'm publishing a book or something."

"Claire, then, please, Billy." She smiles kindly.

Billy nods, and then nods to Owen and Maisie. "Somewhere in those supplies are some clothes for your girl, Alan called just in the nick of time for us to make one last stop, but I think you might want to find them and let Owen get some rest, he looks like he's about to doze off."

Owen jerks his head forward, arms tightening around Maisie protectively. "I'm awake!" He blinks hard, rubs his eyes with the back of his hand.

Claire looks at him doubtfully, and reaches out, running fingers through his hair. It's nice, soothing, and Owen stares up at her and leans into her hand.

Claire bites her lip. "Alan said we could have the use of that guest room, you could head to bed early?"

Owen shakes his head. "Still need to talk to him, and to Billy, and I guess everyone else, about what happened at Lockwood's manor."

"I can tell them," says Claire softly. "You need sleep, Owen."

Owen leans back into the soft comfy couch and thinks of Blue. Of his raptor that ran away from a cage. But that doesn't necessarily mean she ran away from her alpha, her _mother _\- for all that Owen's male - her only link of familiarity in this brand new world Blue doesn't know at all. He scrubs a hand across his face. "I'll get some more food in me, fuel up. But there's things Alan and Billy and Dr Malcolm and everyone else needs to know, and some of it might come better from me in person." As far as Owen knows, Blue only listens to _him_.

He locks gazes with Claire, willing her to understand. She gives a small nod. He'll take it.

"Come on, Maisie," says Claire. "Let's go see if we can find your new clothes."

Maisie takes her hand and they go investigate Malcolm's hoard.

"I'm not going to like whatever you have to tell us, am I," says Billy softly, staring at Owen. It's not a question.

And it's not heat from the fire that is making Owen feel flushed. It's shame. There's a decent chance that he's led a helluva lot of danger to this family's door, even with all the miles and miles between here and Lockwood's manor. Owen thinks of Billy's limp and Alan's creaking knees and their small, snack-sized son. "No," says Owen, closing his eyes with sorrow and guilt. "No, you're really not."

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! 
> 
> i'm brand new to writing in the jurassic fandom so please be gentle! 
> 
> so anyway, if i can find the will to write more for this, ya know that "they do move in herds" meme of alan grant? i'm totally applying it to queers and gaying this jurassic fic the fuck up. 
> 
> i'm planning on having claire as greysexual (somewhere on the asexual/demisexual spectrum), owen as bisexual (i'm basically gon make up a bit more background for him, that i'm totally stealing from dean winchester wearing panties in supernatural, lmao), and both claire and owen head over heels for each other (i actually think they would make a good couple if they stopped and talked with each other for a minute instead of walking off in huffs). oh and ian malcolm's daughter kelly grows up to be a trans man in this, in case you're wondering if i forgot the original jp2 kelly's gender.
> 
> i've tried something new with the POV in this, using a more open perspective to encompass both owen and claire's thoughts and observations, with the occasional little dabble into other people's POVs. i'm not sure how well it works. i'm Not used to writing omnipresent/omnipotent/whatever it's called, and i'm not sure if i've done a good job. good luck, i guess. 
> 
> but yeah, poured a couple days into writing this and had lots of fun doing it, so i hope you enjoy it just as much, feel free to tell me what you think! thank you for reading :)
> 
> cheers,  
edmond.


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